Kadath
by The Night was Moist
Summary: As he shares his dreams with her, as he shares his madness, their descent continues…
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Several elements in this story come from the mind of one of the masters of modern horror: H.P. Lovecraft. I was inspired by _Nyarlathotep _and the _Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath_, both by Lovecraft, but it does not follow the canon set forth by the either of them. Also, thanks to my beta SnuggleKitten69 for all her suggestions!

**Kadath**

I looked at the medical report. "So you still can't wake up in the morning?"

My new patient shook his head. His eyes faced the floor. "No."

"And the alarm doesn't help?" I asked.

"No," he repeated. "And I turn it up all the way."

"How are you handling it?"

"I'm not." He looked up at me and gave a contemptuous laugh. "What do I have to get up for, anyway? I'm taking a leave from my program. Just can't do it right now."

"It's a Master's program?" I asked, as my eyes turned to his patient profile.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Biomedical Engineering at NYU. Third year."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

His eyes returned to face the floor. "Thanks," he murmured.

"So, it's still nine hours every night?" I asked.

He let out a long sigh. "Yeah, almost to the second."

I leaned forward slightly. "Without exception? Every night?"

He nodded his head. "Every night."

If I didn't have a medical report submitted by two respected emergency room physicians, I wouldn't have believed it. Three days ago, Devon Porter, the young man sitting in front of me, complained to his roommate that for the past few mornings he had been unable to wake up on time. More specifically, he had been unable to wake up until precisely nine hours had passed. He asked his roommate to try and wake him up early the next morning.

The roommate tried almost everything. It wasn't long before an ambulance took Devon to Bellevue, where it was determined that he was in a coma. Thankfully - and inexplicably - Devon did wake up a few hours later, with no obvious physical impairments. He was kept under observation for the night in the event the symptoms repeated.

They did.

After being kept under observation for two more nights, Devon yet again exhibited the same symptoms and the doctors who examined him were unsurprisingly baffled. Narcolepsy produces symptoms of extreme lethargy, but not to this degree and not on such an exact schedule. I was a sleep specialist and had treated many cases of narcolepsy but nothing quite like this. And although the coma-like symptoms by themselves were disturbing, they weren't what bothered him the most.

"How are the dreams?" I asked.

Devon breathed out a soft gust of air. "The dreams," he said softly as he shook his head in resignation. "Yeah, the dreams." But then he looked at me with a brief surge of hope. "You know, I was looking on the internet and saw something that said that when patients go under anesthesia they don't dream. Can you give me something like that?"

"Using strong sedatives like that is very dangerous unless you're under constant observation," I replied. "I'm not exaggerating when I say they can easily kill you."

He chuckled. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

I suppressed a sigh. This wasn't what I wanted to be hearing. "Are you experiencing suicidal thoughts, Devon?"

"You mean, do I think about all the interesting ways I could off myself?" He replied almost flippantly as he shrugged. "Sure, sometimes."

"And it's because of the dreams?" I probed.

"Yeah," He gave another derisive chuckle. "That and my roommate's new girlfriend."

"Can you tell me about them?" I asked.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. "You mean her and him or the dreams?"

"The dreams."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything you'd like to tell me."

He paused a while and then looked at me intently. "You've had bad dreams, right? I mean real nightmares?"

I shrugged slightly. "On occasion."

"Well, imagine you had a nightmare and it was worse than any nightmare you've ever had, and it happened every single night."

"Doesn't sound pleasant," I replied sincerely.

He leaned forward in his chair, his expression and body language becoming intense. "No, it fucking well isn't."

I shifted in my seat a bit. I wasn't a big fan of my patients cursing, but as long as they weren't abusive, I could tolerate it.

"Now imagine this," he continued. "Imagine that the nightmare is real, as real as being in this room right now, alive and awake. You beg for it to end, but it doesn't. It just keeps going for nine hours straight. Nine hours, on the dot every time. And when you wake up, it's like you weren't actually sleeping, but you were transported to another place...another reality you've just returned from."

My eyes narrowed. "So this nightmare, it's the same every night? The exact same?"

"No," he replied. "It's actually a bit different every night. But it's in the same place."

"What kind of place?"

"A city."

"Where is this city?"

He barked out a laugh and leaned back in his chair. "Where? Fuck if I know. Nowhere on Earth, that's for sure. The sky above it is always changing. Hell, it's not really a sky. I don't know what it is. Sometimes you see black nothingness, or white nothingness, or purple or green nothingness - pick any color. Sometimes you see stars or galaxies, and sometimes you see fucked up geometric shapes floating around - with some that aren't geometric. Other times you see weird flying things...things that are alive...and some things that aren't. But then those things disappear and other things take their place. It's always changing. You look at it too long and you go crazy."

I nodded. "Okay. Can you describe what the city is like?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it's big. Goes on for miles and miles. But from what I can see, I think the surface just drops off into space, like a flat earth or something. The city just floats wherever it happens to be. There's nothing around it."

"What else can you tell me?" I asked.

He shrugged again. "It's blue."

"Blue?

He nodded. "Blue. The city's blue. Kind of like a silvery blue. And it's made of rock...sometimes it's smooth and sometimes it's craggy. But it just goes on and on...all this blue...shaped into different towers and buildings and streets. It's really intricate. And there's one giant tower in the middle that overlooks the whole thing, as tall as the Empire State Building on steroids, but with weird architecture you've never seen. At the base of the main tower is this giant open stadium, and it's massive...like MetLife stadium...but even bigger...and rounder, and around it there are a bunch of cages on top of these long skinny poles and in one of those cages is where I appear every night."

My eyes widened slightly. "Really? You're a prisoner?"

"Yeah. And it's a good thing I'm not scared of heights. It's like 300 feet down from where I am. And it's not just me, though. There are others there, in other cages. Other humans. One per cage, though some of the cages are empty. But I can't hear them or talk to them. They're too far away."

"And are there people who live in the city...people who are keeping you and the others prisoner?"

"Yeah." He paused and looked down. It was a long time before he answered. "But they're not people."

"What are they?" I asked.

He remained motionless a few moments longer before he slowly returned my gaze.

"They're monsters," he whispered.

"And what do these monsters do...in your dream?"

"What do they do?" he repeated.

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Really fucked up shit."

He didn't seem interested in discussing it anymore, and I thought I'd let things lie. I didn't want to push it. He seemed genuinely fearful of whatever he said he experienced at night. His hands were shaking and once again he wouldn't look me in the eye. Hoping to ease his symptoms, I decided on a prescription of both _modafinil_and _clomipramine_. The former would hopefully cure his sleep disorder and the latter was an antidepressant. Antidepressants don't work in a lot of cases, but even if they acted as a placebo and made him believe they were making him feel better, it wouldn't be a bad thing. Also, _clomipramine _acted as a drug to combat postdormital sleep paralysis. I wasn't sure if it would help in his case, but I was willing to try anything that didn't run the risk of strong side effects.

At the end of the session, we explored ways he could calm himself before bedtime, such as through breathing and meditation exercises. I also urged him to avoid any stimulants after lunch time. Caffeine was known for having a particularly strong effect on some people, and it could have been negatively affecting the quality of his sleep.

I told him to come back in three days. Normally, I liked having a week between sessions, but if he was truly suicidal, I didn't want to wait that long. We also exchanged numbers and I told him that if he had bad thoughts he could call me any time he liked, even if it was nighttime. But then I remembered that the probability of him calling me at nighttime was very low...unless the medication proved successful.

That evening, after I took Molly out for a walk around the block, I explored what kind of diagnosis I should make. To tell the truth, I didn't quite believe that Devon actually dreamed about that nightmarish city in the way he thought he dreamed it. Dreams simply don't take the form of consistent narratives that run night after night as though one is actually living it. Rather, the so-called dreams were likely a delusional disorder of some sort that was brought on by the coma-like symptoms. This seemed like a logical conclusion since the "dreams" and the symptoms began at the same time. Devon likely _believed_ he was dreaming it exactly as he described it, but it was a belief that was shaped by his delusions. The best thing to do was to let the medication I prescribed take effect and hopefully the coma-like symptoms would cease and the delusions would pass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The next night, I had a dream. I found myself in the corridors of some dark hallway. The walls were of stone, a silvery-blue color, and the hallway opened up to some kind of room down the corridor. Everything felt so real, but for some reason, I didn't panic. As I approached the room, I realized I had no clothes on. I became afraid that the people in that room would see me naked, yet I was also somehow giddy at the prospect. I could hear unearthly music emanate from the room. It sounded like harps with the bass of deep drums underneath. But the rhythms were alien.

I gasped when I entered the room. I was wrong. There were no people.

There were monsters.

They lined the walls of the room, side by side. There were perhaps a hundred of them or more...from a hundred different worlds, each one of them unique. Some looked a bit human - or at least were a close approximation. None of the creatures had clothes on - maybe jewelry - but no clothes. Many of them could not even be considered humanoid. But of the ones that were, there was one constant that I could see: they were female, and they had full breasts and shapely hips. Silently, they all stood and looked at me, yet they offered no indication as to why I was there or what I was supposed to do.

From above I heard a quiet creaking sound. I looked up and saw something that made me gasp. There were more naked creatures suspended from the ceiling, hanging parallel to the floor. They were all naked and, again, I presumed that they were female. Beyond and above them, the ceiling was shaped into a high-reaching dome. Around the dome, the windows revealed a dirty white sky that held fluctuating stars of black and red.

I took my eyes off the ceiling. In the distance in front of me, I saw a very dark man who stood in front of an immense gold throne. He wore a gold headdress, like that of an ancient Pharaoh. A naked female with emerald skin knelt in front of him, facing him. Long black ropes that hung from the ceiling were hooked into the skin on her back.

As I got closer, the purpose of her kneeling became obvious. Her hands grasped his thighs and from her mouth I could hear sucking sounds. Boldly, I walked towards the throne and joined them on the left side, but my eyes widened when I got there. I had expected a woman with a beautiful face, for what other kind of woman could attend to such man? But rather, it was a woman with a face of an octopus. Her eyes were like black, featureless pebbles. She had two long slits for a nose and most of her lower face consisted of lightly spotted tentacles that flowed outwards as they engulfed his genital area and wrapped around his muscular buttocks. Along with the sucking sounds, she softly cooed as he gently pet her head.

If I was in my right mind, I would have recoiled in fear at her alien face, I would have closed my eyes in disgust at the hooks that dug into her skin, I would have cried out in pity with the knowledge that as soon as he was done with her, she would be returned to the rafters where she would take her place amongst her sisters in that suspended ceiling of living flesh. If I was in my right mind, I would have immediately ran back across the room to the door from which I had come.

But instead, my attention was only on him. He was at least seven feet tall, and on his face were set two eyes that shone like red sapphires. His skin was dark, and not only dark, but almost like it was the opposite of light...an anti-light. I wanted nothing more than to see how my pale white skin contrasted next to his perfect darkness. My excitement built as I examined his body's definition for myself. I ran hands across his chiseled chest, then slowly moved to explore his powerfully built arms, before I flowed downwards to trace his perfectly muscled abs. I cried out in lust as my wetness splashed down my thighs. My excitement trickled passed my knees as I felt a hand of iron grasp my waist as it brought me against him. He looked down at me, his twin eyes burning as his voice boomed across the ether directly into my mind while his lips remained still.

"Soon, you will attend to me as Nga'ni does," the voice said as he continued to tenderly caress the creature's brow. "She has served me well these past thousand years, and perhaps you will serve for even longer." His smile broadened. "But unlike the boy, you will do so of your own free will...Doctor." With that, he laughed, a deep pounding laugh that shook my mind free from all controlling influence.

At once, I realized that I was being kept in a place of pure nightmare. With every fiber of my being I knew I had to get out. Wresting myself from his grasp, I ran out of the room screaming, past the alien beings watching me, past the open doorway…

...and into a panicked sweat in a darkened room that I thanked God was my own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"So you're still having the dreams, Devon?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But believe it or not I think I'm starting to get used to them."

"Really?"

He nodded. "And to tell the truth, I think I know why. From day one they've been force feeding me this black liquid…" he brought his thumb and forefinger close together, "...just enough to fill a shot glass. Soon after I arrive, this robed guy floats up to my cage and gives it to me. I don't know what the fuck it is, but I don't argue."

"And this is all taking place in that...uh...strange city you talked about?"

He bobbed his head enthusiastically. "Uh huh."

I sighed. "All right."

The medication I'd prescribed had done nothing to ease his coma-like symptoms, and the fact that he was still apparently delusional was not a good sign. He looked and acted much better than he did three days ago, which hopefully meant that at least the antidepressants were having a positive effect. But right now, I didn't want to risk him taking a backward step, so I chose not to challenge him on the reality of these "dreams." I felt that at the moment there was little I could do except play this thing through.

"Well, let's just continue to talk through this, shall we?" I continued. "What does it taste like, the black liquid?"

"It's thick and sweet." He lifted an eyebrow. "It's actually not that terrible...as long as I don't think about where it might be coming from. But interestingly, as soon that liquid is down my throat, it calms me down a bit. It makes me think about things more clearly, and I think it's actually having a permanent effect." He nodded, almost looking impressed. "It's not as bad when I go to the city now."

"Last time, when you left off, you mentioned...uh...monsters? Would you like to talk about those?"

"Oh yeah, those guys," he said. "Well, maybe they're monsters. Or maybe they're just so alien that they seem like it. I don't know. I know they're intelligent. At least most of them, to some degree. They come in all shapes and sizes - some of them walk, some of them crawl, some of them fly. I hate the flying ones. They like to glide around my cage and freak me out. But generally speaking, they're all as ugly and violent as shit. It's like somebody took the most disgusting and dangerous species in existence and just dropped them all into one place."

I couldn't help but notice how easily he was talking about this. It was a far cry from his state of mind in the last session.

"And so these...creatures, they just live in the city?"

"Yeah."

"And what do they do there all day?"

"Well, mostly...they fight."

"Fight?"

"Yeah, they have fights below where my cage is, in the stadium. I have a great aerial view of things, like I'm watching a football game from one of those blimps. But it's not football they're playing, doctor. It's more like UFC meets Monsters Inc. and it's not for the kiddies. They're tearing each other to pieces...with no mercy. It's to the death and anything goes - kinda like the gladiators back in Ancient Rome but with tentacles, teeth and claws. Above the stadium, they even have a giant image to show all the action, but it's not a jumbotron." He shrugged. "I dunno, it's not a physical thing. I think it's magic."

"And this goes on every night with you?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he replied. "Every night, almost all night."

"I see. And are you a fan of UFC, Devon?" I was trying to somehow get to the bottom of these dreams (or delusions) and see if there was some kind of connection between them and his personal life.

He looked down for a moment as he pondered my question. "Not really, I've seen some of the main bouts though. Can't say I dislike it." He shrugged. "It's more exciting than basic boxing."

I paused, wondering how to delicately phrase my next question. "Do you find that you are attracted to other forms of violent entertainment?"

"Not especially. I do see the odd action movie here and there," he shrugged, "but so does everybody, right? Oh...I do martial arts though."

"Ah," I replied.

"Yeah, Wing Tsun. You may not have heard of it, it's a style of Kung Fu and I'm pretty good. Instructor Level 5."

"You mean you teach it?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "We have a club at the university. I've been doing it since I was a kid. But trust me, Doctor, you don't get to be an instructor unless you're really careful and you don't flaunt it. I can say with pride that I've never seriously hurt anyone."

For a moment I was going to ask if he'd ever _wanted_to hurt anyone, but decided there was absolutely no reason to go there. Maybe he himself was a victim of violence at some point in his life, and this was contributing to his delusion. I decided to let that possibility lie for a while.

"So in your dream, you watch all of this fighting go on from your cage?"

"Yeah, they keep me there, and as bad as it is, it's probably a good thing to tell you the truth. The cage isn't that uncomfortable, and I get the feeling that if I was down there among those guys, I would last about as long as a lamb among wolves. I'm not saying I'm having a great time though. It's especially bad when the feeding starts."

My eyes narrowed. "The feeding?"

"Yeah." With a long sigh, he rose from the couch. He walked over to the window that faced north and looked out upon the East River and La Guardia airport. The evening was coming on, and the light was quickly dying. He glimpsed at the iPhone he took from his pant pocket.

"About five hours to go," he said quietly, before looking around the room. "Nice office, Doctor. I didn't really notice it last time."

"Thank you, Devon." I actually didn't mind it myself. I was allowed to decorate it to my specifications. I liked creating a comfortable, calming environment for all my patients.

He looked at a picture on the wall by my desk. "Hey, are those your kids?"

"No, my nieces and nephews," I replied smiling. "I'm not married."

His eyes lit up. "Oh, boyfriend?"

"No."

"Sorry, it's not my business," he said looking chastened.

"It's all right," I replied, this time with a fake smile. It indeed wasn't any of his business.

Devon turned back to the window and silently stared out of it as though trying to lose his dark thoughts and feelings in the view.

"You want to talk about this…"feeding", Devon?" I asked it even though a large part of me didn't want to.

"No," he said, his voice faint and his eyes remaining fixed on the New York skyline, "but I will anyway, because I have to tell someone. It's really fucking sick. The worst thing I've ever seen. The fights I can handle okay. But this other thing….it happens at least once a night. You see, these guys don't just attack each other. I mean, that's really just for entertainment. They also attack other species. Every once in a while, a big group of guys leave the city in some kind of...I don't know...teleportation doorway or something. I can see some of them in the distance from my cage...these huge towering stone ramps with these doorways appearing at the very top. These fuckers march into those doorways and disappear...only to reappear hours later with prisoners..."

His back was still turned, but still I nodded, silently motioning him to continue.

"Even though I haven't seen it, I think they're marched to some kind of holding area in the city. And whenever it's feeding time, they're marched out again...into the stadium and then the entire place goes crazy. And that's usually when I turn my back on it, shut my eyes, and plug my ears. Like I said, I'm getting used to being there, but that part's still hard for me to take."

"That's understandable."

Though I couldn't see his face, his voice couldn't hide his disgust and fear. "You know, last night was especially bad. They brought out this whole chain-gang of prisoners. They were...I dunno...they looked like walking pigs with clothes. Some were a lot taller than the others and I think the small ones were just...children. It was bad. The horn sounded, and everybody in the stadium roared and descended into the pit. I could hear these high-pitched squeals even though I was covering my ears as hard as I could."

I felt a shudder cross my body. Deciding it was a really good time to change topics, I asked something I'd been wanting to know for a while. "Devon, has anyone of these...monsters ever tried to communicate with you? Tell you anything about why they're keeping you there?"

He glanced at me. "Oh, hell no. Those robed guys who give me the black stuff say some weird shit, but I don't understand a word of it."

"What do you think they might want from you?"

"I don't know," he replied, shrugging at my question as he turned around and sat back down upon the sofa. "And to tell you the truth, I'm trying not to think about it. For all I know, I'm going to end up like those pigs. But I'll tell ya, if anyone knows why I'm there, it's the Pharaoh guy."

My eyes widened as my heart began to race. "Pharaoh guy?"

"Oh yeah, I haven't told you about him yet. He's dressed just like one of those pharaohs you see on the History Channel, except he's got black skin. And I don't mean that he's African American. I mean, he's unnaturally black, like his skin was painted the darkest shade of black you could imagine. But his eyes aren't black, they're a bright red you can see from the distance...like twin LEDs. Yeah, I can even see them from my cage. Other than that, he looks pretty much human, though it's pretty fucking obvious that he's anything but."

"Doctor?"

"What?" I replied, turning to him.

"Is something wrong? You look a little pale."

"Of course not," I replied as I pushed visions of a black muscular body and red piercing eyes out of my mind. Swallowing, I assured myself that the whole thing was a foolish coincidence. Or maybe…maybe he forgot. Maybe he _had_ mentioned the dark man in the last session, which then subliminally influenced me into dreaming about it. Yes, that could be it too.

Composing myself, I sat up straight in my chair. "So, do you think there is some special significance to this individual?"

His eyes widened. "Significance? Well fuck yeah. I think it's obvious that he's the main guy, that he runs the whole show. You know that big tower above the stadium I talked about? I think he lives there. And sometimes when he goes down to the stadium and walks across this big platform to his throne, the place just stops dead. I mean, there's thousands upon thousands of ferocious assholes in this place, some of them twenty to thirty feet tall, but nobody says a fucking word. One moment they're filling the city up with the sound of hate and bloodlust, and the next they're just standing at attention in complete silence. It's almost like at that moment the universe just pauses...except for him. But there's something I have to tell you, Doctor, even though you're not going to want to hear it."

"Why not?" I replied.

"Cause you'll think I'm crazy, even if you don't already. But I'm actually going there every night...to the city. You see, I'm not dreaming."

"You mean, you're physically transported there?"

"Not really. But my mind is transported there, along with a copy of my body...an exact copy. I can't accept that I'm dreaming anymore. I can't. It's too real. It's really just starting to be a part of my day, just like this is. I know you think I'm crazy. And hey, maybe I am. But don't worry. I'm not offended. And you know what? It's not just me, more people are showing up."

"You mean other humans?"

"Yeah, every night. I can see them in the distance. New ones keep filling up the cages that were empty the night before." He gave a chuckle dripping with sarcasm. "I bet they're having a fucking great time, just like me. I wonder if I could meet them somehow, you know, in this world. Ha, maybe I should advertise a support group in the paper and see who shows up." He stood up and made grand gestures in the air. "Are you being transported to a fucked up dimension and imprisoned against your will? Join us and talk about it in a safe, anonymous environment."

He chuckled some more and then looked at me. "So what do you think?"

"What do I think?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Of everything I've said."

I paused for a long moment, not quite sure what to say. But then I realized there was only one thing I could say.

"I think we should try increasing your dosage."

I was more concerned now. If we couldn't get his coma-like symptoms under control, I was wondering about how long it'd be before he needed antipsychotics as well. Antipsychotics were a last resort and he didn't seem like he was a danger to anyone else, so I decided against them. But I also decided to see him in three days. Hopefully by then, I could discover what was behind his symptoms.

Before finishing our meeting, I asked him if he was still experiencing thoughts of suicide. Thankfully, he said no. That was something positive at least. Nonetheless, I decided he should stay on the antidepressants while increasing his intake of _clomipramine_since he wasn't experiencing significant side effects. I also told him, once again, to call me at any time if he needed to talk to me. Meanwhile, I would have to get more serious about investigating his condition.

I started that very night when I got home. After taking Molly for a quick walk around the block, I turned on my laptop and logged into the online discussion forums. Normally, I didn't have much trouble with my own diagnoses, a fact I rather prided myself on. But this case was a tough nut to crack, especially since Devon's condition was very unusual. I had already browsed through the DSM-V and various medical journals for similar cases, but had struck out. Similarly, my colleagues at the hospital had been unable to help. So I had little choice but to get help from the users of the forum, who were all verified psychiatric professionals.

When I started perusing the forum, it didn't take long to discover that finding other cases similar to Devon's would be much less difficult than I'd imagined.

Fifteen users reported that they had just recently treated patients who exhibited precisely the same coma-like symptoms and delusions.

The next morning, I checked again. The count was up to thirty-seven users.

And many of the inflicted had died in their sleep just the night before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I tried contacting Devon right away to inform him that his condition could be putting him at severe risk and to come back to the hospital immediately. I wasn't sure what we could do for him there, but it was better than leaving him to the whims of the disease. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a hold of him. In fact, his cell phone wasn't ringing at all.

Fearing the worst, I rushed as quickly as I could to his apartment building, an old brownstone by the NYU campus. His roommate was there to let me in and I felt a wave of relief when he told me that Devon had been fine that morning. However, he'd left without a word of explanation and he'd left his cell phone behind. The roommate didn't know where Devon was, but he would tell him to contact me as soon as he returned.

But Devon wouldn't call me back. Over the next few days, I kept calling his roommate. I even told him to inform Devon that his life could be at risk, though I decided it would be best not to give specifics. But Devon still wouldn't call. The only solace I received on those days was to learn that Devon had woken up and was alive. But he kept going out, and his roommate didn't know where. I decided that there was little I could do except wait until Thursday evening to see if he at least kept his appointment with me...though I severely doubted he would.

But Thursday evening came, and I heard the knocking. Six o'clock on the dot.

"Devon!" I exclaimed, half glad and half annoyed, "Where have you been? Why haven't you been returning my calls?"

"I'm sorry Doctor Lang," he replied smoothly, smiling all the way, "I've been having what you might call a crisis of faith. But I think I'm much better now."

'Yeah, I wouldn't bet on it,' I thought, as I sighed and motioned to the couch. "Well, sit down, please. There's something very important we need to discuss."

"No problem," he replied happily as he moved across the room and sat down on the couch, leaning back nonchalantly. "But can I talk to you about something first? It's something I've been needing to get off my chest. I can't tell my roommate because he's basically my landlord and I don't want to freak him out more than I have."

With another sigh, I looked at the clock. At least I had him here where I wanted him. I supposed we could chat for a few minutes. "Sure, what is it?" I asked, sitting down in my therapist's chair and motioning for him to begin.

He gave me a questioning look. "Let me ask you something. Do you go to church?"

I paused for a moment before answering. "Not anymore, Devon. Why do you ask?"

"Do you believe in God?" he said, not answering my question.

"Uh...I really don't know, Devon. I guess sometimes I do and sometimes I don't."

"Good," he said, nodding. "I wouldn't want to offend you in case you were a true believer." He leaned back further, and put the figures of his hands together. "I was walking down the street yesterday. I've been doing that a lot, lately. Walking around everywhere and thinking. I happened to be right by St. Patrick's Cathedral around mid-morning, and I saw these parishioners streaming out. Anyway, I started thinking of all those millions and billions of people throughout the world and throughout the centuries who prayed to some invisible deity, a deity that was really just an invention of man all along. You see, men wrote the Bible, Doctor. Men. Not any god. You think a real god would write that bullshit?"

"I don't know, Devon."

"Think about it," he continued. "All this time we were worshipping an invention of man... worshipping a fictional god who is ultimately just like us - basically worshipping _ourselves _in a way. And something tells me that we knew all of this subconsciously. You see, that's why our religions are all a joke. It's all made up fantasy, created by our own vanity. Nobody on this planet really knows what it's like to be in the presence of true power...of _true_ godhood."

I swallowed. "Are you saying that you do, Devon?"

"Why yes, Doctor. You see, now I know that that's what Nyarlathotep is all about."

My eyebrows lowered. "Wait...who?"

"Nyarlathotep. You know, the Pharaoh."

"Oh," I said, faintly. "Yes."

Devon rose from the couch and started to pace quickly back and forth. "You see, he's not just the ruler of that city. I mean, as impressive as that is, there's a hell of a lot more to him. I'm just beginning to see it now..." he clenched his hands tightly in front of his chest, "...to feel it!"

"Get this…" By now he was gesticulating around the room, as if he was acting it out in front of me. "Three nights ago, after our last meeting, once again I appeared in the cage as usual. Eventually, Nyarlathotep showed up, as he sometimes does. Now usually when he shows up, he doesn't say a word. He just makes a grand entrance, and everyone cheers and the fights begin."

"But that night, he actually _spoke_, and I could hear this booming voice...coming from everywhere. I didn't know what he was saying, but it wasn't long before everyone started cheering. And before I knew it, I was surrounded by this white light. It was like a spotlight, and I was practically blinded and couldn't see anything. The next thing I know I'm standing in the stadium below, with the cries and screams of thousands raining down on me."

"Sounds terrifying," I said, not knowing how else to respond.

"I guess it was, at first," he replied, nodding. "But in hindsight, it sounds kind of epic, don't you think? Like being in that Russell Crowe movie. Anyway, so here I am wondering what the hell's going to happen, when one of those robed guys guides me to the centre of the stadium where another robed guy is standing. You know, I think they're Nyarlathotep's priests or something. "

"Priests?"

"Oh yeah," he replied, as though what he was saying was perfectly obvious. "I mean, a god needs priests, doesn't he? And there were other people being guided there as well."

"People? As in human beings?"

"Yeah. The other ones in the cages."

"How many were there?"

He frowned, and his eyes searched the air before turning to me. "Don't know, somewhere around fifty?"

I nodded. "Then what happened?"

"Well, the robed guy in the middle, he began to speak in our minds, and I could actually understand him. It was in English, though his accent sure wasn't...it was like a hissing sound which made sense because he had green scaly hands…all the robed guys do. I can't see their faces, but I think they're lizards or something."

"What did he say?"

"Not much..." he shrugged, "…other than the fact that we'd been chosen to fight to the death for the honor of Nyarlathotep and that we'd fight each other in pairs until there was just one of us left."

I shook my head. Any of the horror or chagrin he may have expressed in his earlier sessions was no longer present to any degree.

"And...how did you and the others respond to that?"

"Well, it's not like we're going to refuse, right?" he said, while his hands made a half-hearted gesture of resignation. "I mean that's what we're there for, I guess. To fight for him."

"Uh...right," I replied. "So..."

"So they drew matchups - I think randomly - and we all went off to the side and waited our turn while the first matches began."

"And you fought someone?"

"Yeah, about an hour later. His name was Bill. Bill Redden from Santa Fe. He was an older guy, about 46. Married with two kids. Worked as an accountant. Really nice guy. I think New Mexicans are nice people in general...I've met a few. Anyway, we had a choice of weapons, and I chose a spear-like thing. I found I was able to use it like a long pole...a weapon used in Wing Tsun." He shrugged. "Well, I guess all I can say is that it wasn't much of a match. Bill didn't have the same training I did. So yeah, I got him pretty quickly. Straight into his chest and out the other end. The crowd liked that one."

I took a moment to collect myself before responding. He was saying all of this as though he was describing a hockey game he'd just went to.

"And then what happened?"

"Nothing that night. But the next night, I faced Josh and he lasted a bit longer. Then last night, it was Fiona and Chris. Out of all of them, I'd say Chris was the toughest one for sure. He had some training."

"You killed them all?" I whispered.

"Yep," he replied, nodding, a serious but entirely unregretful look taking over his face. "Right now, there's only a few of us left." He took his iPhone out and checked it. "And I guess in about five hours or so, we'll see if I have what it takes."

At that point, I was wondering if I should try to have him committed...or myself. For I had made a connection in my mind...those people dying recently from the coma-like symptoms...and those people dying in his dreams...some of them being _killed _by him in his dreams. No, not in his dreams, in his delusions.

But I pushed it out of my mind. The whole idea was absolutely ludicrous.

Furthermore, it was time for Devon to face the truth. This had gone far enough, and perhaps I had let it go too far by letting him encouraging these delusions. I had to tell him that he needed serious help, and that he needed to try some new medication. Antipsychotics. And it was best if he voluntarily committed himself to the hospital. I would sign the papers tonight. But I was afraid to tell him.

Because I was afraid _of_ him.

"Devon…" I began, shaking my head, not quite sure how to put it, "...there have been reports of people like you...people with your symptoms. I'm sorry to tell you this, but some of them have are dead."

Devon just nodded his head and gave me a gracious smile. "Thank you for letting me know, Doctor. And what you're saying makes sense, doesn't it? Everybody's dropping like flies in that arena and there's no doubt now that it's impacting our lives in this world. It just confirms the reality of what's at stake."

"Devon, please…"

"I want you to know that I really appreciate all your help. When I was weak and I needed you, you were there for me. But weakness is not an option, right now. Don't you see? To do what I have to do, I can't show any weakness. He will accept only the strong. That's the point of why I'm fighting."

"You need help, Devon," I protested as he stood up and walked to the door. "These things aren't happening. I'm sorry, but these dreams...these events you're experiencing...they're all delusions caused by your illness. It would be best if you stayed here in the hospital tonight until we could move you to a longer-term facility. We can try some new medication."

However, my words were an exercise in futility as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. But before he left, he looked back at me, a confident smile on his lips. "I know you're just looking out for me, Doctor. If everything goes good tonight, I'll call you." He nodded at me. "Really, I will. I promise."

He shut the door behind him.

I sat in my office for the next while, my failure hanging there in the silence. I had screwed things up with this patient, I had let his delusions proceed to far, and now I didn't know what else to do. It's just that things had moved so fast, the delusions rapidly getting worse and worse. I hoped and prayed that he hadn't killed anyone or wasn't going to kill anyone else. No, not in some fictitious dream state but in _real life_.

It was then I remembered the name of the man he had mentioned. Bill Redden of Santa Fe, New Mexico. I immediately opened up my laptop and began searching through the online obituaries of the newspapers in that area. It wasn't long before I found him.

Apparently, Bill Redden had died in his sleep three nights ago.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

'Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean anything,' I kept telling myself that as I drove home afterwards. Bill Redden's fate was likely just a part of Devon's delusions and Devon probably saw that obituary and had used it to give his fantasies some measure of authenticity. That obviously had to be it. Or maybe he had actually known Redden personally from some other time or place. That could be it too.

But...and this thought kept nagging at me...as ludicrous as Devon's delusions were, they were the only things that matched up with everything that was going on. Nothing else made any sense. It would be one thing for a group of people to exhibit coma-like symptoms, maybe if it was caused by a widespread pandemic...such as a virus. But from what I could gather from my online colleagues, it wasn't spreading like a virus. All of these cases were isolated and very limited...occurring in unique locations all across North America. Of course, there was another possibility: a drug. Devon had said he wasn't on recreational drugs, but maybe he was lying. And maybe all the other individuals I'd heard about had taken the same drug as well, a very specific drug that caused very specific symptoms when ingested.

But none of this would explain the dreams...the delusions that my colleagues also reported. Why would people be sharing the same dark visions...right up to the same setting of a city filled with creatures in a realm of nightmare?

And then there was my dream that night...I hadn't forgotten it. In fact, I kept thinking about it all the time. I thought about it, and I thought about_him_, every time I went to sleep. I had been fantasizing about him, touching myself when I thought of being with him, as sick as it all was. And I didn't know why I kept doing it.

Wait...yes I did know...because I knew it was all fake. Like I said, it was all bullshit. And fantasizing about made-up bullshit never hurt anybody. Just like all my flights of fancy over this case were bullshit. There was no other-dimensional being who was stalking people in the real world. It was just a strange, unexplainable illness and delusion brought on by people who happened to have the same tragic disease...whatever that disease was. Medical science would explain it one of these days. I just hoped that Devon would last through the night, that he wouldn't turn out to be a case study of one of the disease's victims.

That evening I couldn't do anything except lay around the house and watch TV. Molly sat by the door looking at her leash and collar, but I wasn't interesting in going outside.

The morning arrived after an uneventful night's sleep. Sometimes when there is a stress going on in your life that you're always worried about, there is a blessed moment after waking when you forget all about it. Then suddenly the memory of that stress comes crashing down on you.

That's what happened when I remembered that Devon could be dead in his bed at that very moment. But I was too afraid to call him and decided to delay the inevitable by taking a long, hot shower. After I was done, I steeled myself and picked up my phone.

I gasped in surprise.

Devon had called me and left a message.

Quickly keying in my password, I listened to it.

_Hi Doctor Lang, I just wanted to let you know that I'm doing just fine and things went well last night. Also, you might be interested to learn that I woke up early today. No more nine hour deal, I guess. Everything's going just great and I feel better than I have in like...ever! I know you were concerned about me, but you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Anyway, see you soon!_

At that moment, I felt like a great weight had just been lifted off my chest, and that a long nightmare of madness was finally over. I still didn't have all the answers to what had happened, but I really didn't care. I wasn't going to look for any answers. I was just going to try and forget it all. And hopefully whenever I saw Devon next, we would wish each other well and go our separate ways...forever. With all due respect to him.

Looking out the window, I saw that the day was as sunny as I'd heard it would be on the radio last night, and I reflected on the lovely fact that I had no appointments to keep. Then and there I planned it all out. I was going to enjoy the day like a free young woman who wanted nothing more than to live life to its fullest. First, I was going to take Molly out for a long run and when I came home I was going to call up my girlfriends. This evening I would treat myself to a night out on the town...and maybe meet some cute guys in the meantime.

I figured the best place to get my day started was Riverside Park. It'd been a long time since I exercised there and I knew that Molly would love the adventure. I called her to me, whereupon I tantalized her with the promise of a long run up and down the trails. I knew it would make up for the cold shoulder I gave her last night.

The traffic was light and I made it to the trails in good time. When I parked the car and started running, I found that the trails were relatively free of pedestrians and cyclists. As the morning turned to noonish, and the temperatures climbed, it got quite a bit busier. But I didn't mind. It felt good to be out amongst the blue sky, the trees, the river, and the people - even amongst the neanderthals who kept ogling me. The whole universe felt real and right, and the endorphins being released into my system were making everything feel even grander. Normally, I kept to a really slow pace when I ran with Molly, but she seemed to be as energized as I was today, so I went at a brisker pace than usual.

By the time I reached my car, I had worked up a nice sweat, which wouldn't hurt when it came to fitting into the small, slinky dress I had in mind for the evening. Starting up the car, I turned on the air conditioner full blast and let Molly inside while I remained outside for a bit, wiping myself off. I hated getting sweat on my leather seats.

"Hello, Doctor."

I turned around and groaned as my lovely mood got flipped around in an instant.

"Devon? What...why are you here?"

He just shrugged and looked at me as if it was a regularly schedule appointment. "I told you I would see you soon."

At that moment, I felt the perfect mixture of creeped out and annoyed. "Devon...have you been following me?"

"Not really," he replied. But then he paused for a moment and furrowed his brows. "Well...now that you think of it, I suppose I have." He shrugged. "Sorry."

"But how did you know I was here?"

"Well, He's been guiding me to you. And when I saw your car, I thought I'd just wait." He frowned for an instant. "You know, He seems to know a lot about you. Is there something you haven't been telling me, Doctor?"

I shook my head. "Devon, we should discuss this next week, in my office." Actually, that was very unlikely as I was just about to call the police.

Devon stepped forward as he opened his arms to plead with me. "But He wants to see you, Doctor. He is coming to see you. Right now."

Ignoring him entirely, I opened my car door to get in. But before I could open it all the way, he pulled me to the side by my arm and slammed it shut.

"Devon!" I yelled, as I looked around and wondered whether I should cry for help.

"Please, Doctor, let me explain," he replied, putting up his arms and backing away. "I feel I owe you that. Major things are about to happen. He told me everything. You see, there are other realities out there, and many of them are made of different...stuff. I don't know how else to explain it. The one I've been going to is made of...the stuff of dreams, but it's no less real than our own. It's a reality where He lives and which He rules, all from The Great City, The City Of Cities. Kadath!"

"Devon…" I said, moving my head from side to side. I'd had enough of this crap.

"That's where I've been going to all this time!" he continued on excitedly. "And my connection to all this is that black liquid I've been drinking since I got there. They gave it to us to prepare us, to anchor us to His reality, and to connect us to Him. It's His blood, you see. We all drank of it, and with every match, we the victors got more and more. It was our reward for being chosen, for making it so far. And as His final champion, I partook of it the most, thus making me one with Him, thus providing Him with a passage into this world. You see, Doctor, I am His chosen emissary. I am His gateway. I am the most worthy, and this is my final re- uhhh..."

Suddenly, he doubled over, almost falling forward. His skin began to move violently, like an earthquake was erupting beneath his flesh.

"Devon," I gasped. "What's wrong?"

Pulling himself up, his head snapped back. With both hands, he yanked the front of his jean jacket open, pulling it as far as it could go. "He is here, Doctor!"

He was screaming and I was screaming. Everyone around us in the park area was screaming. A black hole was opening up in Devon's chest as black hands reached out from inside the chest and pulled it apart. The hole kept expanding as Devon was split entirely in two from head to foot, the blood and organs of his body spilling around the being that stepped out of him. It soon became apparent that the hole itself had not been black. Rather the color had belonged to the man - the God - that had emerged from Devon's remains.

And still I screamed when He walked over to me and cupped my chin as a booming voice emerged from lips that did not move.

"It is a beautiful universe you have. A most beautiful world." He looked around at His new realm, and then turned to me and smiled.

"I will take it."

And still I screamed as He then turned and spread His arms. Hundreds of feet above us, far in the distance, blue sky was torn open, much like Devon had been, and a hole opened up.

It was rock that emerged at first, rock that was followed by the glistening of silvery blue architecture. Kadath. The crowds around me had no idea what was it was. But I knew, and I knew what it meant.

For there was a place in its main tower waiting for me.

And still I screamed.


End file.
